


Counterforce

by KyraEleison



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Fast & Furious 6 (2013), Fast and the Furious RPF, l - Fandom
Genre: Action, Angst, Angst and Porn, Contraband, F/M, NSFW, Police, Porn With Plot, muscle cars, roleplay fantasy kind of, undercover cop lee pace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 07:03:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8436067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyraEleison/pseuds/KyraEleison
Summary: "Why do you care?"
  
  "I'm the curious type."
  
  "You'll be the dead type if you keep on asking stupid questions."

 
What started out as a rebellious joke has grown into a whole organization of running contraband, granting safe transportation for anything and anybody all over the world regardless of the size or the nature of the package. May it be as relatively harmless as illegal art treasure or more complex, like drugs and weapon. No restrictions apply, everything is transferable as long as the client is capable of evening out the stiff price tag.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Lee Pace is more than versatile to be roleplaying with in my head and the thought of him knowing how to properly use a handcuff is pretty appealing. Yes, Luke Evans is totally my other daddy.
> 
> There's a very special relationship between me and this story for multiple reasons. Not new, though it has never been published before. This version is re-worked and re-written. Some of my great friends are familiar with it already.
> 
> Don't ask why it happened. It just did and I regret nothing. The plot is already complete, it only has to be written down.

 

**(CH 1: RUNAWAY)**

The location itself is absurdly easy to find. Open and capacious, yet secluded enough to remain hidden from curious eyes, lurking safely under the radar, smelling of burning tires and gasoline. A million ways to escape if the situation may call for it, and there must be a pre-made plan ready to use for every possible scenario. They could send two dozen cop cars and still end up empty handed, just like it happened before. The constantly changing meeting points and the unretractable hints of information make it nearly impossible to cut the case short for once and for all. It's getting out of hand. In fact, it has already gotten out of hand, sinking deeper into the depths of various offenses against the law. What started out as a rebellious joke has grown into a whole organization of running contraband, granting safe transportation for anything and anybody all over the world, regardless of the size or the nature of the package. May it be as relatively harmless as illegal art treasure or more complex, like drugs and weapon. No restrictions apply, everything is transferable as long as the client is capable of evening out the stiff price tag.

It took months of work and sleepless nights to finally get here, and the success is still anything but granted. It's a non-recurring chance to take or miss. Hours and hours of preparation, hundreds of pages of reports from nine different countries, two hundred and fifty-four incidents, eleven deaths and the numbers belong to only the registered cases. How many more left undetected? Nobody knows. It could be doubled or it could be thousands. One thing is for sure, the thread converges in one hand. A single steel grip to control the whole business. Owen Shaw.

There's a real parade going on in the night loud with music and engine sounds. The crowd is getting massive as the cars line up. One by one, let the dick measuring begin. Hundred thousands of dollars rolling on four wheels, ready to show off with whatever they can though the main event of the night is not about popping up the hood and granting a peek inside. Whoever wins the upcoming drift has a good chance to get something more than only the considerable amount of money as the first prize. But also a probability of a job that's publicly never available. It's either offered, or non-existent.

She has her own parking spot by the exit, assigned specificaly for the midnight blue Mustang. Rules simply don't apply on her, passing by the security before stepping into chaos, making her way through the sea of hysterical people, ignoring their very existence. Not even an elbow touches her aura, that wicked bubble of enigmatic superiority works like dark magic. She doesn't have a moment of time to waste, there's a task to be completed. Her duty is the same as always, finding a new driver and deciding whether the job will be taken or remain unoccupied. She has the natural ability to pick the right ones and Shaw knows it better than anyone, this is why he granted her the part a long time ago. She'd never let him down with a single choice. His number one confidante.

The animator of the event is waiting for her arrival on the stairs, fumbling with the countless rings on his fingers to keep up the illusion of being busy with something else other than refilling his cup. He will accompany the woman, handle her with extremem care while making sure to provide the very best sight on everything that's supposed to be seen for a simple and easy judgement. The contestants are getting ready, taking their final chances for a quick demonstration, collecting amazed giggles and soft touches from the half naked escort, stomping their chests with a primitive expression. Each one of them is a self-claimed multi-talentum. The same story every time with the same pathetic outcome. Men and their overflowing egos, screaming for validation to feed the hunger.

She's catching a glimpse from the corner of her eye, feeling the intensity of his gaze following her up the stairs. He's sitting on the rearguard with arms crossed on his chest, melding perfectly into the Firebird in black jeans and t-shirt, visibly uninterested in the slutty barbies circling around like a deadly group of vultures above the prey. They will have to starve or look another one. He's shamelessly staring at her on the tribune. It's hard to decide whether he's completely insane, or plain clueless.

They are only moments away from the beginning of the prime attraction. The introduction of the ref is needless, he's welcomed with a thundering round of applause, whistles echoing from the walls. He's a memorable sight in heavy golden chains weighing his neck down, diamond grill and silver dreadlocks, extra dark shades to lighten the night. He's exposing the rules for the sake of habit, it's not like they don't them already. Either way, somebody will attempt to break it. The tension is sensible, almost electric in the air. She's still invested in the staring contest with the unfamiliar drifter, the corner of her lips curling into a subtle smirk before dabbing the watch on her wrist. He reacts instantly, a cocky grin spreading across his face before disappearing behind the wheel. She's implausibly irritated.

“Who's the giant with the Pontiac?” The animator steps beside her, following the direction of her look but it's a lost cause. He's way out of focus. The glass in his hands is empty again.

“The _giant_? I don't know. Never seen that one before.”

“He just walked in and that's it? What the fuck is safety after all.”

“I would've collected his CV if you would've informed me to ask for it.” She turns to him in slow motion, measuring the guy with an expression she keeps exclusively for those special type of idiots that are so experienced in being outragiously stupid that they actually turn it into an art form. It's the saddest type of admiration.

“First of all, I do remember hearing the word 'professional' being abused by your mouth. How rude of you. Second of all, here's an advice, free of charge for now. Be very careful. I don't care what you do or how you do it, but when I'm here, you better get it together. Are we clear?”

“Shaw knows you've brought his balls with you, doesn't he?”

They miss the start. The cars are already on their way as the thick smoke dissolves but leaving the unearthly sound of the beastly machines piercing in their ears. She catches herself scanning for a specific black one. The Firebird is behind everyone else. The realizations puts a dim rush of disappointment on her face but the odds are changing rapidly. Most of the drivers are not experienced enough to see through the situation. It's not only about putting the pedal to the floor and they better start using their brains before the gray concrete wall of the neighboring building will stop the mindless stunt. Fine technique, that's what she's looking for and that's precisely the only particle that's lacking tonight. They lose control so easily while forcing the single idea they can conform with, to win. The Pontiac moves like a panther in the dark, attacking out of nowhere, by-passing the rivals with the speed of light. The manuevers call for a trained driver, swiftly waking up the curiosity in the woman.

The endgame is just as stupefying as the result, holding no surprises but a clean cut victory as the Firebird reaches the neon green line. The frantic screaming of the crowd sounds like a distant grumble from hell. Champagne drips from the sky, lights reflecting from the sparkly liquid. All hail the king. He's pushing through the mass that's blocking his way but the tribune is already empty by the time he gets there.

She's shaking. It's an odd mixture of pleasure and rage, rushing back to the exit like a hurricane, her hands curled into fists and there is absolutely no explanation for her body's reaction. The alarm inside of her head is flashing with red lights, her senses are working on an extreme level while trying to act like she's now aware of the heavy steps. There's a momentary discharge in her brain, deciding to turn around instead of driving away, finding herself face to face with the medalist himself. Though he's already a considerable size the side shaved hair gives the man an even menacing look, his green eyes darkened with resentment.

“You saw it.” His voice is deep and melodic with a hint of gruffness for taste. The threat would be a lot more convincing if he could keep his gaze on hers. But he can't. The leather pants look like liquid latex panted on her, the thin straps of the flimsy top crossing on her back, leaving the rest of it floating around her figure.

“I did. Congratulations.” The woman settles the conversation before it could turn into an actual argument, ready to get inside of the car, but his words stop the move midway.

“I need the job.”

“You need the job.” She's too suspicious to start schooling him about the situation he got himself into, taking half a step toward him to emphasize the meaning of the information. “ _I_ pick the driver., not the other way around. As I said, congratulations, Giant.”

She can see him standing on the same spot when rolling out of the parking lot, still the blood-rush doesn't seem to subside. He was good. Too good compared to the fact that nobody knows anything about him. Too risky to include. Too magnetic. The woman pulls the windows down, thirsty for a gulp of clean air. The Equus purrs under her like a wildcat, people are staring from the sidewalk. She's used to it. Her inner exhibitionist screams a little with delight. The lamp turns red and she drops her head back, trying hard to calm down.

He better make a move and provokes something out of the woman or the whole mission will fail right before it could even have a chance to begin. He won't let her out of his hands and he won't hold himself back from giving her a hard time. She doesn't know what he's capable of. The last few minutes were just the tip of the iceberg and she's unaware, standing on the very edge of the downfall.

She rolls her eyes with frustration. It simply cannot be true. The black Pontiac accidentally appears by the same red light, how could she think for a second that the man will give up. A simple look was enough to know for sure that it's not the way he functions. And deep down inside, this is exactly what she wanted to see. Watching the beast coming into life.

The traffic lamp is still red. She doesn't look to the side but if he dares to believe that she won't play it dirty, it's about time to prove him otherwise. She acts quickly from the guts, not willing to wait until the green flashes up.

They make it look so much fun in the movies when each one of the unsuspecting citizens can easily skip away from any kind of danger that threatens their physical safety, it doesn't matter how crowded the sidewalk is, nobody gets hit or hurt. Real life, on the other hand, is slightly different. People are not expecting cars to casually pop up at places like a pedestrians only promenade, especially not while going with a hundred miles per hour. It's the weekend and the weather is incredibly fine, how could anybody not feel the need to move out and get a taste of the early summer? And how could anybody happen to not be fully in the way, staring hypnotized into the headlights, not moving a single inch? It's not that honking would be pointless, but rather that there's no time to do that. There are people everywhere and the path is far from being suitable for dodging, they barely fit between the poles on the sides. It's as intense as the worst nightmare can get. It seems like everyone's legs are molded together with the ground, only their eyes are fixed on the approaching threat, their pupils dilated by the light, paralyzed like a cat caught crossing the road. Their mouths mutely gaping with horror.

Her face looks like a Van Gogh painting, her instincts are screaming to shut her eyes but she's simply too horrified. The Firebird is right behind her like a shadow. Of course it is, the man can't see half the things she can and he's probably not half as shocked as she is. Millions of thoughts running through her head but none of them offers a solution for the catastrophic situation. Suddenly, time feels like nothing but an illusion. The line between dreams and reality is blurred and the moments become hours, all in slow motion. She could stomp on the brake, chances are the car would be able to slow down enough to give a possibility for the runaway. But with the Pontiac following tightly, the crash would kill both of them first before sweeping the whole human mass away. A bearded guy rushes to the populous group, it seems like he's floating on thin air, shoving them away with his arms. Maybe it's just her imagination, but she can see his left leg brushing against the metal body, the sound of their screams scratching her brain from the inside.

Her grip turns white around the wheel. If she would lessen the intensity, her hands would be shaking like leaves in the wind, sweat dripping down her back. She's leaning on the horn with one palm, making sure everybody's going to avoid crossing their way. One last crossroad and the place gets wider, sparks flashing from under the cars as they're driving through a row of speed bumps. Red and blue lights everywhere, reflecting back from the glasses of the shops and cafés. The woman makes a sharp turn to the right before crashing into the sideways parked police cars, speeding up on a hill that's one way downward. The surprise is big for the oncoming traffic, desperately trying to let her know how badly she's violating the law, flashing so intensely that her vision becomes nothing but a shiny smudge.

She's still racing like a lunatic though there's clearly nobody behind her anymore. As soon as the Equus reaches the high road, she's struggling to believe her eyes. The Firebird's repeated presence makes her want to scream with frustration. They're facing each other. Motionless, engines running. It's not an empty threat anymore. She can hardly take out the man's features from the distance as the light of the street lamps hit the windshield, blocking her from seeing the stare. She's not hesitating. Her foot is already on the gas, pushing it as hard as she can. The white smoke is thick and solid like a castle wall as the woman shoots away next to him.

* * *

 

It's late. Too late. She was expected to arrive more than an hour ago. The compound's yard goes dark as soon as she stops the car. Shaw's Aston Martin is parked right beside her. He won't be impressed. In fact, she'll need all of her best excuses to clear things up. She's not only late but also empty handed and that's the bigger concern from the two. Shaw will surely attempt to give her a hard time if not for anything else than only for his own amusement, for the sake of making her switch into full offensive mode to the point when she starts breathing fire. The echo in her head is pulsating like a mild startup to a severe headache and the darkness feels exceptionally good for her senses. She would rather stay outside alone than making her way into the desolated looking building to collect the stares from the rest of the team. She wants to go home and take a hot bath, possibly drinking something to loosen the nerves. With or without Shaw.

The sound is getting louder, undeniable existing in reality and not only inside of her head. She's refusing to turn around this time, already knowing what the sight is going to be. He's impossible. All of his efforts to rudely cross the line of her toleration is about to pay off. She's reached the limit about five seconds ago and the intruder will pay for it. He will pay for everything. She inhales sharply before facing the black Pontiac, her arms crossed in a defensive position. An evil little smirk playing on her lips as she's watching the man with awe. How he found her at the end is a real mystery. Yet he did and it would be unfair not to appreciate the suicidal bravery. And the hidden talent.

His steps are assertive and huge, reaching the woman quickly with only a few stride, towering above her both vertically and horizontally. The striving for intimidation is not only clear but strangely exciting and he's passed the point of holding himself back, getting as close to her that their bodies barely touch. She remains steady and still for his honest surprise.

Her face couldn't be more familiar after the long hours he spent staring at photos of her. First it was out of obligation but slowly it became an unconscious need and he kept on fulfilling it. Now that she's not a picture on a printed paper anymore but a tangible human being, he needs to rewire his instincts before committing a terrible mistake.

“Your decision-making skills are calling for a serious polishing, Giant.”

“It's Roy. Nice to meet you.” He can't seem to take anything seriously, talking with ease like they just met at a tea party. She can't help but giggle darkly.

Someone's moving in the background, turning the lights on by the side of the building. The dim glow makes the whole place feel like a bizarre scene from a lucid dream. A deep, raspy voice speaks from a hidden corner.

“Everything's all right, Nova?” The man takes a step toward them, exposing his built. His muscles are tensed, ready to attack at any second.

If Roy counts as a giant in the woman's eyes, he can't possibly imagine what she calls the newly arrived character. He's at least three inches taller, shoulders must be about twice the size of the his. He must have made countless sacrifices to be able to spend the last 15 years in a gym, lifting monster trucks as a light warm up, stuffing himself with weight gainer pills for every main course.

He's not coming any closer, peacefully waiting to get her permission first.

“Sure, everything's fine. Giant, meet Klaus. He shall do the polishing.” She winks playfully, turning her back on him without remorse, leaving the two man in romantic privacy.

Nova makes her way into the building, finding only a small part of the group busy in the mainframe room, instantly feeling like she's crashing the party. Shaw's standing tightly beside Vegh and her computer, leaning onto the table with his palms. She has to focus not to roll her eyes.

“Where did you leave Klaus?” The man checks his watch to make sure she gets an impression of his thoughts.

“Outside. He's cleaning up the garbage.” Shaw raises his brows, straightening up from next to the blonde. She's visibly balked and disappointed, shooting a quick look at his direction. All of his attention is on Nova by now, measuring her firmly with his eyes until the loud noise knocks them out of the trans. An anxious shout comes from the main entrance, calling his name.

By the time they got outside there's already audience for the ongoing action. Two guys hitting each other expertly. One of them is Klaus. The other one is unfamiliar for everyone but Nova. He's

barely risking to get close to the colossus, using his legs instead of his arms and hands. Neither of them is completely unharmed. The sounds of their wrestle are getting more and more distressed, their hits hasty, tired. With an unexpected move, Roy grabs his opponent by the back of his neck, finishing the round with his right fist, bones cracking under his knuckles.

Klaus lays peacefully on the ground with face down and though Roy might be standing on his feet, he's being far from dashing. His chest heaving for oxygen, a trail of blood running down his neck from the temple as his gaze locks with Shaw's.

“Who is this?”

An irritated pout appears on the woman's lips, shaking her head in disbelief. She can't force herself to stay around any longer, the blood turns black inside of her veins, rushing like a mad river. She's throwing an answer over her shoulder while marching away.

“Your new driver, apparently.”

* * *

 

“Tell me what happened.” He steps behind her, feeling the woman shiver by the touch. She's far more strained than she should be, especially since she's not the type to easily lose her temper but simply to use blood boiling ignorance instead. True, once her little zen garden is kicked off, she's unpredictable. Shaw knows how to do it and she's up for the game, but there must be a whole different reason behind it this time. “Did he win?”

“He did. And almost killed both himself and me.”

“Why did you accept the challenge?” The question is legitimate and it makes her want to punch someone in the face. Roy for instance has already gotten enough for tonight, one more couldn't hurt.

“This guy is crazy. But more than that, I don't trust him at all. We don't know who he is.” Shaw turns Nova around, taking her chin between three fingers, holding it tightly.

“Are you mad because someone has finally managed to outsmart you?” Whenever he's smiling his fangs are exposed, her stare wanders at them unconsciously. Her brain can easily recall his bites by nothing but the sight of them.

“Excuse me? I'm not mad. I'm raging. He shouldn't be here and you shouldn't let him stay.” Her grip tightens on his behinds to pull him closer, feeling his rigidness through the clothes. The thought of switching the lights off in the garage crosses her mind for a brief moment but it gets dismissed. She's more interested in pleasing her eyes alongside with the rest of her body.

“Let him prove. I haven't met him, yet he's already granted me a favor while putting you in such a bloodthirsty mood.” He lifts the woman up to feel her legs wrap around his waist, hissing with delight as her hips moving in circles against him. “I will deal with him myself if he'll fail.”

“Will you fuck me or I have to do it myself?” He grins against her teeth, biting sharply on her lower lip, making her moan by the pain.

Roy has never considered himself the voyeur type, truth to be told he never really had a chance to test it out. His mind demands to stay. And watch. His mouth runs dry as his eyes remain fixed on her face, watching her moves. Seeing her body giving fully into the thrill is a pure treat. Her hands keep roaming on Shaw, grabbing anything she can reach, increasing his roughness while showing her harshly against the wall. His thrusts are unhesitant and raw, holding her tightly by the ass. Her tongue caresses his shoulder, delicate fingers curled around his throat. She wants everything and she wants it all at the same time. She's not afraid to list her wishes, ordering them one by one and they're delivered with great care.

It's a fever burning with white hot flames on his skin. So unusual and amusing like a fantasy. The effect it has on his body is unquestionable, taking him into a mood where he is completely uninterested in measuring the correlation between duty and personal motives. How could he let it happen is anything but clear, standing in the dark like a shadow, fighting himself not to give into his own desires.

Their moans deepen as the climax gets nearer, Nova's hips moving wildly with Shaw's, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him further inside. The way she can't get enough is astonishing.

Their eyes meet. She can't see him from there,it's physically impossible, he can still feel her stare piercing into his, sucking on her lower lip with delight. He's harder than ever before and he hasn't even touched her. She's being fucked by someone else, yet on the canvas of his mind, he's replacing that man with himself, giving her just what she deserves for the blood boiling recklessness she showed, turning her back on him more than one time. The urge to touch himself is almost unbearable. The tension is so massive inside, he will murder someone if he can't get it out. Her body freezes by the last thrust and her eyes close in satisfaction. Now it's _his_ time to turn his back on the woman.


End file.
